


that's why you love me

by katethereader



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: 4 times + 1 time, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, SO MUCH FLUFF, Swearing, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 02:18:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katethereader/pseuds/katethereader
Summary: four times "that's why you love me" hurt, and one time it didn'tanonymous tumblr prompt fill





	that's why you love me

**Author's Note:**

> just guys being dudes. and by guys being dudes i mean feyre and rhysand loving each other so much and being afraid to say anything. until they do :)  
> this was an anonymous prompt fill on my tumblr @feyrearch

(1)

“I’ll pay you good money to come to my apartment and shoot me in the head so I don’t have to write this goddamn Global Populism paper,” Feyre said, her phone balanced in the crook of her neck, ear pressed against her shoulder to keep it there. She briefly let her thoughts linger on the lost romanticism of owning a cordless phone, wishing fleetingly that she had a thick, coiled cord to twirl around her fingers as she chattered on.

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Rhys replied.  “Only—hold on, I don’t own a gun. And knowing your political views, you don’t either.”

 

“Semantics,” Feyre said, swatting her hand dismissively despite the obvious fact that no one was around to see it. “This is America. Just go to the gun store in the strip mall down the street. You’ll be in and out in five minutes.” 

 

“Feyre, you seem to forget that I’m  _ brown _ ,” he said. “They’ll have me on the terror watchlist faster than you can say ’second amendment.’” 

 

She laughed quietly at his unfortunate joke. “But,” he said, “I can still just keep you company if you’d like.”

 

“Only if you bring food,” she said. 

 

“Az made garlic bread,” he offered.

 

“Ugh,” she moaned. “Key to my heart.”

 

“Be there in ten.”

 

Rhys used his spare key to let himself into her studio. 

 

“I gave you the spare key for emergencies,” Feyre called from her spot on her bed, laptop in her lap. “Not so you could so rudely let yourself in whenever.”

 

“If I remember correctly, you gave me your key so that if you missed more than two days of classes in a row, someone would have a way to get in and collect your corpse before it rotted too much,” he said, repeating her old words back to her. 

 

“That is what I said, isn’t it?” she smiled playfully and patted the down comforter next to her, signaling for him to come sit. 

 

“Plus, he said as he shucked off his wet rain jacket, “I need some way to get snacks between classes.”

 

“ _ That’s _ why it always smells like popcorn when I get home,” she said incredulously.

 

He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a grin. He sat down on her bed, immediately readjusting to fold his legs under her blankets. He always forgot how damn cold she keeps her apartment. It’s like she  _ enjoys _ suffering. 

 

He unwrapped the tin foil packet he brought the garlic bread in and held it out to her. She pulled out a slice from the loaf and bit down. “Azriel really is the best cook of all of us. Why do any of the rest of us even try?” she asked. 

 

“I know,” he agreed. “Mor tried making spaghetti tonight but it was futile. Az’s bread was the star of the show.”

 

“Well,” Feyre said around a mouthful of bread, “Anyone’s bread could beat out Mor’s spaghetti.” 

 

He laughed at the truth of it. Mor was an awful cook. “I really hope Andromache has even an ounce of culinary skill, or the two of them are doomed forever.”

 

Feyre interlaced her fingers and raised her arms over head, stretching her back. She wore oversized grey sweats and an old, faded blue ringer tee which exposed her belly button as she stretched. Rhys quickly looked away, careful not to let his thoughts go anywhere off-limits. They were friends. Best friends. That was it. 

 

That was it. 

 

“So, Mr. Poli-Sci major,” she addressed him, dragging him back to reality as she grabbed a tissue from the box on her nightstand to wipe her greasy fingers. “What the fuck is populism?”

 

“God, Feyre, this is week seven of what—ten? The class is  _ called _ Global Populism.” He wished he was surprised by her lack of knowledge on the subject. But when he really thought about it, if the content wasn’t journalism, she wasn’t paying attention.

 

“Well, Rhys,” she stressed his name to make fun of the exasperated way he’d said hers, “all we  _ do  _ in class is look at Trump memes and cry over Bernie Sanders and all that could have been.”

 

“You know, if you’d gotten my old professor you’d be able to teach the class yourself by this point,” he said, lamenting again over the fact that his favorite professor was taking her sabbatical the year Feyre was getting all her political science courses out of the way. 

 

“Here’s the funny thing though,” she said, scooting her laptop off of her lap and onto the bed in front of her criss-crossed legs. “You took the class, and you had the good professor. So, by your logic, shouldn’t you be able to teach this course to me now?”

 

“You clever little devil,” he said. 

 

“That’s why you love me,” she said. The worst part of it all was that Feyre had no idea what kind of truth she was saying. Rhys’s heart ached to tell her, but his head knew better. His head knew they had a good thing going, and there was no sense in potentially ruining that. 

 

He yearned to say something. But instead, he settled further into the bed and started his explanation of populist theory.  

 

* * *

 

(2)

“This had better be good,” Feyre said by way of greeting. It was 2 in the morning and on any other night ever, she would have been fast asleep. But she’d watched one too many episodes of Black Mirror, and so now she lay staring at her ceiling contemplating what the robopocalypse would actually look like. At least, that’s what she’d been doing before Rhys had called.

 

“Hey, you’re drunk, and I need to drive you home,” Rhys said, his vowels thick and his words slurring together into some kind of mess. She heard him laugh then, almost giggle honestly. “Wait!” he shouted comically loudly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant  _ you’re  _ drunk and  _ I  _ need to drive  _ you _ home!”

 

Feyre rolled her eyes and threw back her covers. “Just send me your location and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

Feyre grabbed a sweatshirt and threw on her sneakers when she got his text. He wasn’t far. If he was sober, Feyre knew he would insist upon walking. But he very obviously was very not sober, so she grabbed her keys and climbed into her car. 

 

She heard the booming music in the run-down house from a block away. When she pulled up in front she rolled her window down to see if she could spy him. It was dark, but not dark enough that she couldn’t make out the few bodies milling around outside the party—and Rhys didn’t appear to be one of them. 

 

“Rhys?” she called, craning her neck to see if he’d walked down to the street corner. 

 

She heard him mumble, “‘M right here,” but she still didn’t see him. Until he raised his arm up in the air to catch her attention, and she discovered he was lying flat on his back on the grassy lawn. 

 

She turned off the car and climbed out, ready to chastise him. “What are you doing laying in the grass, idiot?” 

 

Once she stood over him and saw the glaze in his dark blue eyes, he brought a finger to his lips and shushed her. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the ground next to him. She humored him, just to see what he’d say. 

 

“Look at the stars, Feyre.” His voice was filled with incredulity. “Look at all of them out there. Humans spend too much time with their heads down. There’s a whole beautiful world out there. The stars know me. They know me better than I know myself.”

 

She would usually scoff at him and dismiss his drunk ramblings. But there was a truer honesty in his voice than she’d heard in a long time. It was a part of Rhys that usually lay dormant and now it sat right here, awake and splayed open and begging for conversation and  _ god, _ she wanted to know this piece of him better. 

 

So she lay with him, even though the grass was damp and a girl was crying on the porch, and another guy may or may not be peeing into a bush at the side of the house. She lay with him and stared at the stars. 

 

“Just look at them and — and  _ feel _ ,” Rhys urged her.

 

She waited a beat before asking, “So, like, do we share our feelings, or do we just—”

 

“Shh,” Rhys said. 

 

So she sat and she felt. At first she felt silly, but eventually she got out of her own head. They lay in silence as Feyre sorted through her true feelings about the stars. She’d never paid them too much thought, but now that she was actively dwelling on the subject, she realized how much comfort the stars had always brought her. 

 

As a child she’d painted a starry sky on her dresser at home. The first time she’d ever gotten the stomach flu after going away to school, she’d sat in Mor’s bathroom, alternating between throwing up and staring at the starry sky. She’d missed her sisters and her father and even her mother, in that moment, and the stars had alleviated some of that crushing feeling. 

 

The stars felt like home to Feyre, she realized. 

 

She turned to Rhys, wanting to share with him, wanting to thank him even, for this little exercise. But he was fast asleep. 

 

She stood up quickly, feeling embarrassed and a little pissed. “Wake up, asshole,” she said, toeing his side with her shoe. 

 

“Five more minutes,” he whined. 

 

“Nope,” she said. “Now. I just laid in the grass and stared at the stars looking like a dumbass while you  _ slept. _ Now get up, big guy.”

 

Rhys threw his arms up in the air and made crab-like motions with his hands. “Carry me,” he begged. 

 

Feyre groaned, but grabbed his hands with her own and heaved him up. He wasn’t putting any effort into the endeavor, making his body unreasonably heavy. Despite his childish refusal to involve himself in his own standing, she managed to get him up off the ground, but he instantly slumped over her shoulder. 

 

She shifted around under the weight of him, until she was in a position where she could support his very intoxicated body and still walk, and proceeded to walk him to the car. She pushed him into the passenger seat and leaned over his body to buckle him like he was some kind of toddler. 

 

“Your car’s kind of shitty” he said, petting the worn grey nylon upholstery. “Did you know that?”

 

She couldn’t seem to get the seat belt into its buckle, a fact which made her want to scream. She jiggled the little belt around, listening to it clang and clatter against the plastic but somehow still not fit inside its stupid little hole.

 

“You’re kind of shitty,” she said. “Did you know that?”

 

“You can bully me all you want,” he said. “It’s not gonna change the fact that your car sucks.”

 

The seatbelt finally clicked into place and Feyre patted Rhys’s chest before walking around and clicking her own seatbelt on. 

 

When she reached the first intersection, she flipped on her turn signal in the direction of Rhys’s apartment, which was on the other side of campus from hers. 

 

“No!” he shouted abruptly, shocking her so much that she slammed on her brakes. “Not my apartment.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘not your apartment?’ Where am I supposed to take you?” she asked. 

 

“I don’t know! But I promised Cass and Az that I wasn’t going to go out and get drunk at som eshitty party and if I go back like this they’ll know I’m a liar,” Rhys’s voice dropped to a hissing whisper at the end, as if he were telling a horrible secret.

 

“News flash, but I’m pretty sure they already knew you were lying,” she said. She was all bark and no bite though, for she flipped her turn signal the other way and headed back to her own place, drunk Rhysand happy in the passenger seat. 

 

It was a struggle getting him up the stairs to her place, since he “didn’t feel like” walking, but (eventually) she managed. Once they were safely inside she dropped him unceremoniously on her unmade bed. 

 

She brought him a couple advil and a tall glass of water, and didn’t turn around again until he had drunk it all. When it was gone, she placed the glass in the sink and returned to the bed.

 

“Tuck me in?” he asked, batting his eyelashes like a seventh grade girl. 

 

She hated to admit it tugged at her heartstrings, and she found herself smiling coyly and bringing the covers up around him. She tucked the blankets closer to his body and ruffled the hair atop his head when she was done. 

 

She turned around and kicked her shoes off, but was pulled back by his voice. 

 

“Feyre?” he asked. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“Come closer,” he beckoned. “It’s a secret.”

 

His eyelids were heavy—each blink lasted a little longer than the last. Sleep would claim him any minute, she could tell.

 

She leaned down so he could whisper in her ear, but before she turned her head, his face rose up off the pillow just slightly. He pursed his lips and placed the smallest, quickest peck against her lips. 

 

Feyre pulled back, touching her lips with the tips of her fingers, reeling. He just smiled widely and closed his eyes, settling his head deeper into his pillow. 

 

It was because he was drunk. He was just messing around, she figured. 

 

She couldn’t let him see how much it affected her. 

 

Feyre quickly climbed into her side of the bed and turned the lamp off, hoping to gloss over what, to him, must have been a drunk mistake. But to her, it meant everything. 

 

She prayed he couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat in the darkness. 

 

“Hey, Feyre?” he asked, calling out with a thick voice into the thick darkness.

 

“Yes, Rhysand?” 

 

“Thanks for picking me up,” he said simply. It hung there, like an unfinished thought. 

 

“You’re a pain in my ass,” she teased in response, trying to ease some of the crushing weight that had so quickly appeared on her heart.

 

“That’s why you love me,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice just as clearly as she could feel his body heat, right there next to her in the full-sized bed.

 

She waited until she heard the regular sighs of his deep sleep to whisper into the dark, “If only you knew.”

 

* * *

 

 

(3)

“Snore!” Feyre shouted, blatantly ignoring the fact that they were in a library. “God I’d rather  _ die _ than finish this article.”

 

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hyperbolic?” Rhys asked, lowering the transcript he’d been reading to eye her over the paper.

 

“Hyperbolic?” she repeated. “Me? I am a  _ journalist. _ I dedicate my  _ life _ to the presentation of unbiased, even-handed information. I’ve literally never hyperbolized about anything in my entire life.”

 

Rhys rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s unbecoming of me to associate with a child, like you,” he teased. “I mean, if my professors saw who I spend my time with they’d be disappointed frankly.”

 

“It’s not just your professors,” she said. “If you ever run for public office in the future, just know I’ll be there, detailing the history of our relationship to any news outlet that will listen, sabotaging you with your own horrible truths.”

 

“Great,” he said drily. “Can’t wait.”

 

Feyre leaned backwards in her chair, stretching her arms widely, and blatantly ignoring the stares she earned from others cramming for midterms among the stacks. 

 

“And they’ll definitely be hearing about that frat party freshman year,” she said. “You know the one.”

 

She winked as she took a long sip of her coffee and pretended to turn all her attention back to her readings. She wasn’t getting off that easy.

 

“Feyre!” It was his turn to shout now, albeit semi-accidentally. “You know it was an accident! I was really drunk and you were getting in my face and I tried to tell you to move but you wouldn’t.”

 

“Okay, so it’s my fault you threw up on my boobs. Got it,” she said. “I’ll make sure to tell the reporters that little detail after the story is mysteriously leaked by an anonymous source.”

 

“You’re incorrigible. Truly, you’re just the most frustrating person I’ve ever had to deal with,” Rhys said. 

 

“That’s why you love me,” she said. But she didn’t know the half of it. 

 

* * *

 

(4)

“What if I just like, dropped out of school and worked at a Buffalo Wild Wings until I died?” Rhys asked as they sat in the grass on the quad. “If things ever got really bad, at least I’d always have the wings. I could feed you intel from the inside too, so you could write investigative, saucy exposés on the inner workings of corporate American cuisine.”

 

Feyre smiled, liking the insinuation that they’d be in each other’s lives forever. She always believed they would, but it was nice to hear it from him too. It had been weeks, and he still hadn’t mentioned the kiss. Not once. So either he didn’t remember, or he thought it was such a mistake that he hadn’t even mentioned it. 

 

Feyre didn’t mention it either, because either way, it wouldn’t mean to him what it meant to her. Nothing ever meant to him what it meant to her. But that was okay. She wasn’t going to be the one to ruin them.

 

“I mean,” she said, “you totally  _ could. _ I doubt chicken wing serving is a dying industry. But, you’ve made it this far. You may as well get your degree first.”

 

He threw his head back against the blanket they laid on and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I just don’t see myself going anywhere after school. Like what is there for me?” he asked, and his tone was genuine—discouraged and horribly vulnerable.

 

“Rhysand,” she said, soothingly. She hardly used his full name, but it felt important to do so now. She laid down on her side, propping her head on her elbow, so she could look at him. His skin was smooth and bronzy under the light of the springtime sun, and she was once again shocked by the length of his eyelashes as they brushed his cheekbones. “You, of all people, are going to be okay.”

 

He looked up at her, disbelieving. Her hair fell around her face, blocking her view of him. She pulled it back behind her ear. “Are you sure?” he asked.

 

“I’m positive,” she said. “You’re intelligent as all hell, you’re kind, and you have a good head on your shoulders. You will find a job and you will be happy. I know it.” 

 

She threaded her fingers through his and rested them against his chest. She wanted him to know she supported him; she believed in him.

 

He smiled as he listened to her, as he beheld her face. They were so close this way, her practically leaning over him. It was so similar to that night, to that kiss. She almost did something dangerous. She almost leaned down and risked it all. But he saved her at the last moment.

 

“You on the other hand...” he said with a shit-eating grin. “Haven’t you heard? Journalism is a dying industry. I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

 

She tossed his hand out of hers and rolled her eyes. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” she asked.

 

He closed his eyes, smiled smugly and said, “That’s why you love me.” 

 

And oh, it truly was.

 

* * *

 

(+1)

Feyre walked out of the lecture hall with a confidence that could only come from finishing all her finals. Junior year was over. It felt odd. After this summer, she’d be a senior. And then, if all went according to plan, she’d be a graduate. With a degree. 

 

Life was coming at her fast, and she was ready to meet it.

 

She jogged back to her apartment, knowing her time was limited before she had to board her train back home. 

 

When she entered her apartment, she wasn’t alone. Rhys sat on her bed with his head down and his hands clasped tight.

 

“Guess who just finished her junior year of college?” Feyre called, raising her hand and smiling. 

 

When Rhys looked up, he was sweating. Why was he sweating?

 

“Dude, are you okay?” she asked. Her heart stopped cold seeing the pure anxiety evident on his face. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“There’s something… something I have to tell you,” Rhys said. She nodded, encouraging him on.

 

What could possibly be going on? Was everyone okay? Was someone hurt? She’d hide a body for him, if that’s what it came down to. But he said simply, “I love you.”

 

She didn’t understand. She knew this; she loved him too. Even if she wanted more, she knew they were best friends, and that he loved her just as he loved Mor and Cass and Az. “I love you too?” she said.

 

“No,” he laughed nervously, frustrated. “You don’t understand. You’re not getting it.”

 

She just stared at him, at the planes of his face—perfect, save for the small scar on the bridge of his nose from when he had slipped in his socks and cut his nose on the edge of the fireplace. He always blamed Cassian for pushing him, a claim which Cass vehemently denied. She stared and she waited, waited for him to clarify, to make her understand. What was she missing?

 

“I don’t just love you,” he shook his head and laughed. “I’m in love with you,” he said. 

 

Her breath whooshed out of her body. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t speak. Distantly, she was elated. Beyond happy. Joyous. But presently, all she could focus on was her shock. 

 

His nerves seemed to subside somewhat, but not totally. He continued on, still looking as if were imploring something of her, as if she didn’t reciprocate with her entire being.

 

“I love you,” he said. “I love your shitty old car. I love how cold you keep your damn apartment. I love watching you get angry about politics. I love that you can’t make popcorn without burning it all. I love how you don’t understand how to be quiet in libraries,” he rattled off his list seemingly without breathing. 

 

The tears welled up in her eyes as he delivered his unorthodox list. Her heart was so full she thought it might explode. She wanted to drop to her knees and kiss his perfect lips and cry from overwhelming joy. But she was still Feyre, so she started with a slightly angry, “ _ That’s _ why you love me? Because I yell in libraries?”

 

Rhys smiled so widely at her. He saw the tears spilling, blurring her vision. He saw her wide smile, incongruous with her heated words. But that was Feyre—incongruous. 

 

“Feyre, I love everything about you,” he said. She finally let out one heaving sob. “But especially the library thing.”

 

She stepped that one final step closer and looked down at him. His eyes stared right back into her own as she cupped his jaw with her hands. “I love you too, asshole,” she said with a tear-stained laugh. He stood up and took her face in his hands too, and kissed her. 

 

It was nothing like the kiss all those weeks ago, when he’d lain drunk in her bed and pecked her lips so quickly, she could have missed it. 

 

This kiss was a culmination of years of waiting. It was everything. Everything.

 

When Feyre pulled away, she let her forehead fall to Rhys’s shoulder and tried to regain her breathing. 

 

“So—wait,” he said. Feyre could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head as he said, “you love me too?”

 

“Yes, you dense idiot,” she laughed. “I’ve been in love with you since freshman year.”

 

He chuckled once, short and breathy, but it quickly spiraled into hysterical laughing. Once he’d regained some of his composure, he said, “Me too. I thought you were beautiful the first time I met you, at move-in. It didn’t take long until I was head over heels. I think the first time I realized I had feelings for you, was at that scavenger hunt.” 

 

They’d been paired up for an all-nighter scavenger hunt all around campus as part of their first-term orientation. Instead of participating, the two of them had left and shared a milkshake at the 24-hour diner across from campus. It was the first of many sleepless nights spent there. Feyre smiled at the memory—the beginning of it all.

 

“I knew I had a crush, but it got  _ bad  _ that day in winter term, when you got hit by that bike,” she said. Rhys laughed at the reminder of the embarrassing moment. He’d been crossing the street when he’d locked eyes with Feyre and stopped to wave. In his distracted state, he hadn’t heard the warning yells from an oncoming bicyclist, and had been completely mowed down. “I ran over to make sure you were okay, and you just gave me the stupidest little grin. You were covered in mud and scrapes and gravel but you just smiled at me. I swear my heart melted right then.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You fell in love with me because I got hit by a bike?”

 

“Well you love me because I yell in libraries. So we’re even,” she said, then kissed him again.   
  


* * *

 

 

_ epilogue: _

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Rhys said. The weight in his pocket both terrified and excited him. He had never been as certain about anything in his life as he was about this. That didn’t make it any less scary, though. 

 

He and Feyre sat at the table in their shared apartment, papers scattered all around them, dinner plates stacked in one corner. Azriel, Cassian, Amren, and Mor were all sprawled in different spots throughout the living room as well—sitting in chairs or laying on the floor. It was fall term finals season in their senior year; there was less than zero room for error, which meant long hours of studying.

 

Feyre looked up from her laptop. “Yeah?” she asked.

 

“It’s something I wanted to share with everyone, actually,” he said. All the other heads in the room looked up to him as he stood from his chair. “As you all know, I’ve been in love with Feyre pretty much since I met her. She’s been my best friend, my confidante, my equal in every way through the last three years. I love her with everything I have to give.”

 

Everyone’s eyes seemed to fill with understanding. Azriel the most, as he’d been the one Rhys had turned to these last few weeks as he decided to finally go through with this. Rhys would typically have gone to Mor for help like this, but he was worried she might accidentally tell Feyre and ruin the whole thing. 

 

Rhys turned and looked directly at Feyre, whose face displayed a small ounce of understanding and disbelief, hidden under a blanket of confusion.

 

“She’s been my rock through all of university, and has taught me all that I know of what it means to truly love someone else. Waking up next to her each morning and falling asleep beside her each night makes every day worthwhile.” He addressed her then, and said, “Feyre, these past few months together have been the happiest of my life, and they’ve made one thing abundantly clear: I never, ever want them to end.”

 

Feyre’s eyes sparkled with welling tears and she brought a hand up to cover her gasp.

 

Rhys pulled the small velvet box out of his pocket and said, “Feyre Archeron, I want to spend the rest of my life loving—”

 

“No!” she shouted, interrupting his question. The whole world went still for a moment. Rhys’s ears clouded as if a bomb had gone off.  _ She said no? _

 

“Should we—uh, should we go?” Cassian said from his spot on the couch, earning him an elbow to the ribs from Amren. 

 

“I mean, not ‘no,’” Feyre said, beseeching. “Just—wait, hold on!”

 

She jumped up from her chair and sped back into their bedroom. He heard the squeaking of dresser drawers and then she emerged once more, one hand behind her back. “That’s not how this was supposed to go,” she said. “You pulled the rug right out from under me.”

 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, tiny little box still unopened in his hand. 

 

Feyre revealed what was hidden behind her back: a nearly identical small, velvet box.

 

“Rhysand,” she started, “I am my best me, when I am with you. You remind me each and every day of what it means to be alive, and to be in love. You are the moon to my stars; you are the man of my dreams.”

 

His heart was thundering in his chest. Feyre knelt down on one knee. He followed her, until they were both kneeling in front of each other in their tiny apartment, each holding those tiny little boxes.

 

She smiled at him and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. They wore matching expressions—loving smiles and teary eyes. 

 

“Feyre,” he said. 

 

“Rhysand,” she echoed, with a tinkling, teary laugh.

 

In unison, they opened their little boxes and asked the age-old question, “Will you marry me?”

 

Rhys tossed his box aside and gripped her face in his hands and kissed her with all the passion, all the love, in the world. She kissed him right back. He tasted the salt of her tears as they fell, and he felt her joy. 

 

He knew without a doubt this was the happiest moment of his entire life. 

 

He pulled away and she laughed through her tears. She leaned her face forward and rested her forehead against his, their noses brushing as they both laughed and cried.

 

“So… Is that a yes?” Cassian interjected again.

 

Feyre and Rhys simultaneously flipped him off, but Feyre said, breathlessly, “Yes. Yes it is.”


End file.
